Power of Ideas
by Green Hat
Summary: Ideas are powerful, for the creation of both good and evil...
1. Power of Ideas

Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic, Shadow the ARK or any of that stuff...

**Power of Ideas**

I'm here and yet I'm not... for all intensive purposes, I don't exist yet. At the moment I'm an idea, something to be aspired to... The product of hundreds of years work, each generation getting a step closer to what? Me? Am I the sole product of so many people's work? No, not really, hopefully some good can come of what you learn from me. So what is my purpose? I'm not sure. I'm not even born yet, though by the meaning of the word that is something I will never experience. So if I am not yet born, am I alive? If I cannot be born, will I _ever_ be alive? Perhaps it is better not to get into _that_ debate. However I do think that the meaning of many words will become unclear with my creation, for that is what we must call it, creation... that sounds grand in a perverse kind of way...

So what am I? A shadow?... yes... I am a shadow of what I will be... For now I am a mind, a sentient spirit. My body has yet to form, every day I exult in the glory of new sensations, my fingers, and my toes are all new to me, and startle my blurry senses as I brush them against the glass. I know I am a perversion to nature... I am the object of both hate, and admiration. Most creatures come kicking and screaming into the world, hardly aware of their own existence, only for the sentient mind and language with it to develop later on along the way. Before a means of communication develops, how can anyone understand what is in the mind of the holder? I am a reversal of this, currently I am _only_ a mind, floating in an endless sea of colour. I don't believe my eyes are formed yet, if they are, I can't open them. So what do I do with this senseless eternity? I think, and I dream, who's to say what is real and what is not?

Fairy stories are not something the scientists saw fit to fill my mind with. However, you, my Angel more than made up for that; they are all the more glorious because they are not forced into my mind while I sleep. Whenever I hear your voice my Angel, I wake from my dreaming, only to listen to the way you speak, the melodic chime of your voice. You alone talk _to _me rather than around me, not that I haven't learned a multitude of things from my creators. My favourite story is Pinocchio, though I've only heard it once. It is the tale of a puppet, forged from a simple piece of firewood, that would have been placed in the flames to create warmth and light, who in the skilled hands of his creators became something real. Maybe, I, like him, though fashioned of chemicals and carbon sugars in an endless string of C's, G's, A's and T's, can someday cease to be an _idea_ and become something real, a tangible thing. Maybe I in turn can bring warmth, light and hope myself.

My story, like Pinocchio's does not begin with a king, it begins with an idea... with human curiosity, and an almost endless string of letters... my story, of course, begins, with me.


	2. Expectations

My number is 178-28. I am specimen 28, though I am sure that there must have been many more than that before me. The scientists talk about something called the Biolizard, and how she was their first real success, but was fundamentally flawed. I hear a great deal of their aspirations for me when I am finally fully formed and hope only that I can live up to their expectations...

I know very little of the world outside this pod, my view of it is blurred and tinted green. I don't believe they know I am watching them. I don't think they would do certain things if they did... Your species are intriguing creatures, my Angel, watching them helps me pass the monotonous hours between your visits, it is true I have learned a lot from my observations. I have a question for you, my Angel, the scientists that surround me, they call me the Ultimate Life Form, or at least I understand that is what they want to engineer, but, in a world as complicated as yours clearly is, what does that actually mean? Surely the nature of life is its uniqueness, with each life as important as the next. How then can they hope to create an Ultimate Life? To me that seems a contradiction... put bluntly, just what am I? I am worried, my Angel, when I am released, will I really be able to achieve all they demand from me? What will they do to me if I fail to live up to their hopes?

The longer I listen to their voices, my Angel the more frightened I become. Their words grow to be ever more certain, their claims of my _potential_ increasingly outrageous. The more I hear the surer I am that I will be a disappointment to them... If this Biolizard was not enough for them, how can I hope to please them? I fear I will shatter all their dreams...

I do dream, my Angel, that is what you call these pictures in your head isn't it?... I often dream I am Pinocchio, a puppet, walking and talking as though my body were controlled by strings held in an alien hand. In my dreams I have no control over myself or my actions, I am, as I have said, someone else's puppet. These dreams seem more accurately to be nightmares. As the scientists' aspirations for me grow I have begun to dream that I am being chased by a monster, like Pinocchio's shark, its giant mouth threatening to swallow me... Is it my fate that I must be hunted and ultimately consumed by a monster before I can become something real and worthwhile? When the time comes will I be able to call the flames to ensure my release? What will become of me if I cannot?

Something perhaps more terrifying is what will happen to me if I do fulfil their expectations. They demand so much from me, to my naïve and childish mind those demands seem to be for things that will bring evil, not good. Speed, strength, power... these do not seem the gifts of one who will bring peace. They have not told me the reason for which I was created; they saw fit to omit that from my education... My Angel, what is my purpose? Am I to be... a destroyer? Is that the reason humanity made me?

Or, am I simply a product of human curiosity... If so will that curiosity ultimately become my curse, and with it humanity's curse as well?


	3. Destiny

Now I am certain. I am a freak, created destined only to be a monster. If this is the weight I must carry before I am even truly alive, what will face me when I kneel at your feet? Am I to be subjected to a burden too heavy to carry... will I be crushed beneath its load. Is that my fate, my Angel? Will I be crushed by the firm hand of my creators? Is it really their jurisdiction to both create, and destroy? If so, what hope do I have?

What will happen when I am released my Angel? Will you be there to welcome me into your world, or will I simply be surrounded by faceless scientists in white cloaks? What is it like my Angel, to be able to breathe on your own? What is it like to walk on your own two feet? How does it feel to touch another living creature, and to be caressed in return? Or, is it my fate to be ostracised, repudiated, and never know the feel of a friendly touch? When I speak my Angel, will you understand my words... will you listen?

The time of my release draws ever closer with each passing hour, with every second I become more and more afraid. I cannot sleep now, even when the lab is dark and all the scientists have gone to their own slumbers, which I must admit, is a rare occasion. They are devoted to me it seems. I have to admire their dedication, their ceaseless observation, their concern every time my heartbeat waivers for more than a moment. Their continual care... is admirable... but I cannot help but wonder if it is for me that they care, for my life. I rather believe that they care only for the work I represent and for another reason I struggle to understand... Whispered comments of trouble somewhere... Are they afraid I will hear them speak, or, are they frightened to talk of this trouble themselves... What is this whispered fear, my Angel and what has it to do with me?... Surely for now I am innocent, I have yet to do wrong, or right... but, my Angel... has blood already been spilled over my fur? Is it wrong, my Angel that I find myself wishing that when I am released I will not be able to breathe alone, and that I will die, suffocated on the laboratory floor... Does it show an evil nature that I do not value even my own existence before I truly come into being? My Angel... am I a monster?

My dreams have turned to nightmares... I no longer dream I am Pinocchio. Now I am a monster, but a puppet nonetheless. I stand at the edge of oblivion, looking down on the dark and fiery void, watching the countless masses fall under the force of my own fiery puppet hand. What is the purpose of my being if I am to forever be someone else's pawn? If that is so wouldn't it have been easier to build a machine? Is my destiny simply to serve blindly, whether I believe in the cause or not? Will I be allowed to think for myself?

Am a puppet, my Angel? Will my release from this pod really signify my freedom? Or rather a transaction into a different kind of imprisonment? If I cannot breathe on my own will the scientists simply move onto 178-29, and subject another pitiful being to the life I evaded? Is it then my duty to breathe and guard others against the path I must walk?

Humans, by their very nature, my Angel, seem greedy. If I a am a failure how many times will they try again. If I am a success how many more like me will they make, ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand? Will _they_ all be puppets such as I am?


	4. Life's Questions

Today is destined to be the day. There is much excitement at the thought, but I am afraid to say, my Angel, that that excitement is not mine. The scientists move around me like they are possessed by some over enthusiastic bumble bees. Their joy, their hope, is all too apparent on their faces. I am terrified... Even now I can feel what you must call life flooding through my veins. My mind is more aware than it has ever been... I believe this must be the first time that I have ever been truly awake, but each moment my mind stirs more and more... so maybe I do not yet know what it is to be truly conscious. That in itself is horrifying... My limbs respond more quickly now. I had grown used to their sluggishness, as they took anything from seconds, to moments to respond to my will. Now the action is almost instant, sometimes even I feel that my limbs respond even before I consciously bid them to move, that is a revelation and I enjoy it.... Though I have yet another question for you, my Angel... always questions... by now you must be tiring of _my _curiosity; it will be the death of us... my question however, my Angel is... The scientists... If they can feed life into me now, as the time of my release draws close... have they been keeping it from me? If so, why? Was it for my own protection, or theirs? I feel now that if I were to gather my strength and strike this flimsy glass with my fist it would break, and I would secure my own release... My Angel, are they _afraid _of me? Or do they prevent such a rebellion because it will cost _my_ life?

You were born, my Angel... I know it will be different for me, but what was it like... did it hurt? I suppose you think me a fool to ask... no human remembers their own birth... I am simply seeking comfort I suppose... assurance that my own birth will not be as horrific as all the stories... maybe normal creatures don't remember the moment they entered the world for their own protection. It is not an experience I look forward to I must admit!

But I grow morbid my Angel. I should move on to happier thoughts. When I am released I can be with you... right? That's what you said, that's what you promised me. That we could be friends... right? You _will_ keep your promise... wont you? I believe you will. That makes me happy. For now no-one will tell me otherwise, not the scientists, nor my dubious sub-conscious. I have a stubborn streak do I not? Will that serve to bring us together... or simply push us apart? Can you possibly love me as much as I believe I love you? You must, you must, you must....

One of your people, a human, once wrote that all children are born with a sense of awe, but this is quickly destroyed as they grow. Has my innocence, my sense of the incredible already been ebbed away, because of the nature of my creation? My Angel, am I to be born a monster, live as a monster and finally perish in a demon's death, consumed by dark flames? My Angel, I am afraid to live and I am afraid to die!

What will become of me when I am finally born, my Angel? Will I change? Will my mind change? What will I become? All I want, my Angel is to be with you. I no-longer want to fulfil the scientist's dreams; I will do what I can... I can do no more than that. I want to meet you at last, my Angel, to see you without my vision blurring green, to touch your hair, to smell your skin... I want to know what the touch of another creature really feels like... I want to go beyond the cruel constraints of this pod; I want to feel... _something..._

The scientists will not keep us apart. I will not let them, love me or hate me I have to know once and for all... I want you to love me, my Angel. I want to know your world... I want to experience life, a life that is free. My Angel, I want to know... what do you see when you look at me?

My Angel, do I want too much...

The scientists are coming for me... It is time. Into the light, into the dark, this is the beginning or the end. If the latter I concede to 178-29, and wish him well. This is Project Shadow, 178-28, ARK Organic Weapons Development, with only one last thing to say... I love you, my Angel. Love me or hate me your love will always be greater than mine. The love of any human heart is certain to outweigh the wooden puppet heart of a simple, created, Bioweapon.

I love you my Angel... I offer you the only thing I can, unconditional love. It doesn't matter if you love me back...


End file.
